seedy journeys

Sardines don’t know how lucky they are. Put out of their misery before being crammed into those tin cans. Not so lucky we travelers， paying for the privilege of being stuffed into overcrowded train cars， tail to tail， gill to gill.

It seemed like a good idea at the time， I recall. Chinese trains can be so cheap if you book the infamous “Hard Seats.” How “hard” can they be， we intrepid adventurers quip.

We hadn’t counted on the beginning of the Chinese New Year crush， when families returning to their home towns for the annual cavalcade of mandatory feasting and fireworks.

Our train， therefore， was fit to burst its rivets， crammed with people， baggage and noise. Oh， the noise！ Not the chattering or the groaning of the train but the relentless crack， crack， crack of teeth chewing on sunflower seeds！ The guy beside us had been gnawing at his stash of these dry， woodchip-flavored time-fillers for over two hours， methodically dipping into a bottomless bag， nibbling loudly and spitting out the shells at my feet. Not only was his appetite for seeds seemingly insatiable， he also wouldn’t stop staring directly at me. I wondered what he expected me to do C his gaze was meticulously purged of interest， curiosity or animosity C it simply had the vacant constance of a bored security guard who was paid to watch a video feed of an empty furniture warehouse.

Maybe my unexpected traveling companion had never seen a foreigner before. Perhaps he expected me to do something spectacular like the expats you see on TV C launch into song， or a break-dancing routine. If it’d have stopped the staring， I might have obliged had the carriage been more spacious and less overcrowded. But as things stood， I remained squeezed between my other companions on a lightly-padded bench， waiting out the clock.

Oh， for a “Soft Sleeper.” China’s supposedly classless society ends where its train cars beginC soft sleepers are， or at least were， in the days before wall-to-wall high-speed rail， the definition of traveling luxury. A semi-private， four-berth cabin， hot water and power outlets made long- distance journeys a fun aspect of travel. Even“Hard Sleepers，” six tiered bunks in an open berth， exposed to the corridor， were perfectly manageable， if not very private.

Hard Seats are for the cheapskates， the genuinely cash-strapped and those who couldn’t secure a better ticket in time. And you get what you pay for. I found myself idly wondering if Sunflower Seed Man was feeling as suffocated as I was， crammed in next to a woman I presumed was his wife， though neither had exchanged more than a few grunts since we set off. Before we had set off， these two had covered their child in a heap of bags and coats C clearly a ruse to avoid paying for a third ticket. I hoped the reason the child （I assume a girl， but nobody was getting a clear look） had ceased complaining was that she （he？） was now curled up， asleep， in the cozy warmth of their padded cell. I found myself wishing I could entertain thoughts of sleep， but the overcrowding made such bliss an impossibility.

My friends and I had decided to visit Harbin， a city in the heart of former Manchuria， to pass the Chinese New Year vacation among its dreaming， Russian-inspired architecture. Our carriage was， thankfully， thoroughly insulated against the winter cold C crystalline traceries of ice were slowly creeping across the doubleglazed picture windows as we sweltered inside. Our thoughts dwelt on fishermen hauling vast chunks of ice into Harbin’s parks to be carved into the sculptures that populate its annual Ice Lantern Festival. We daydreamed of caviar， of steppe-roaming horsemen， of colourful regional costumes and roasting lamb. We’d packed ski pants， heavy duty boots and facemasks to protect against the sub-zero temperatures.

Now we felt we might melt long before we reached our destination.

What is the point of sunflower seeds， anyway， I wondered. They hardly seem worth the effort. So little nutrition for so much mastication！ A number of passive-aggressive responses to the constant stares crossed my mind， but I dismissed them all. Six months in China and the rather bland curiosity people still experience when exposed to foreigners is still a daily event， though it is fading fast among the younger generation. Any expat quickly realizes such behavior is never hostile， neither is it rude in Chinese culture， and those who can’t adapt to being hallooed every time they step out of their front door really aren’t cut out for life in the Middle Kingdom.

Still， in such close quarters， even the hard-bitten China hand can be unnerved by the eyeballing I was continuing to receive from Sunflower Seed Man. I began to return to my earlier train of thought C doing something outrageous either to justify his time， or simply embarrass him into looking elsewhere. Maybe I could just strike up a conversation， give our friend a tale to tell his family over their New Year dumplings.

I rummaged in my bag for an ice-breaking snack that wasn’t sunflower seeds， and might even illustrate the humor inherent in our current situation.

Just my luck C I left my sardines at home.